


Serpent Wisdom

by frogfarm



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Bechdel Test Fail, Community: femslash_kink, F/F, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22125433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: Murphy never saw this coming. And now, she feels nothing at all.Post-CHANGES, pre-GHOST STORY. Murphy POV.
Relationships: Molly Carpenter/Karrin Murphy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6
Collections: The Annual Femslash Kink Meme 2019





	Serpent Wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> For the Annual Femslash Kink Meme, 2019. Prompt: Dresden Files, Molly/Murphy, mind control.
> 
> I've only read the series once, but the story here quickly revealed itself with a little research to refresh my memory. As far as timeframe, this is after Murphy commented on Molly's attraction to Harry, and during Molly's transition to "the Rag Lady".
> 
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> * * *
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>> _How sharper than a serpent's tooth a thankless child._
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>> _Be as wise as serpents, and as harmless as doves._
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> * * *

Given the multitude of supernatural threats she's faced ever since Harry Dresden brought his unique brand of chaos into her personal and professional life, Karrin Murphy has found herself resorting to equally unique methods of self-defense. As well as attack. Because we all know -- and Murphy definitely agrees -- that it really does generally constitute the best defense. Not that you go all out expending energy and flailing in every direction. Just that when the time comes, you spend as little time as possible reacting, and as much as possible on _acting_.

Except it's not just her body frozen in the moment. The very second she set foot across the threshold of the deserted apartment a blank paralysis had descended across her thoughts, crept into every corner of her soul and nestled in. Her lingering resentment over the loss of her badge, the unavoidable discomfort of being forced to administer justice outside the law. The hard kernel of resolve; the burning need to find Harry or avenge his death, all of it swept away to leave a hollow shell. She could feel her empty hands hang in the air, bereft of the slightest will to go for the SIG Sauer inside her coat.

"You shouldn't be able to do that."

With all her might, Murphy strives to turn her head. Since she is apparently fresh out of might, this has no effect. Also pointless. She knows that voice, as thin and ephemeral as both it and its owner have become.

"Think, I mean." A thin chuckle. "But what else should I expect from a woman who wielded a Sword of the Cross?"

Molly drifts across her field of vision, trailing wisps of silk and light. Her tattered robes billow and flutter as they reach out to caress Murphy's cheek. The jeans and shirt beneath reek, as though she's been sleeping in dumpsters.

" _Fidelacchius_ \-- that's a bit much for me." Molly nods as she plucks Murphy's gun from its holster. "Had to wait until you weren't carrying the damn thing."

Her brain isn't working. Is it literal? Is she dying of hypoxia?

Molly gestures idly with one hand. "Sit."

Murphy's body walks over to the couch and does what it's told. Her mind wonders how she can know, or care, that Molly's ragged fingernails are sporting an even wider variety of colors than last time they saw each other. That troubled gaze roams around the room like Molly herself, sliding over everything and then away like it's all too painful to look at.

"I know what you're thinking." Molly stares at the floor and offers a shy, self-deprecating smile before looking back up with a hard stare. "But no. I haven't touched one of those stupid coins."

Murphy can't blink, but she knows she ought to be surprised.

"No," Molly continues. "Definitely not in the thrall of the Fallen, but you'd like that, wouldn't you? Blame it on some outside evil? Oh, poor Molly, she could never do such a thing!"

Murphy doesn't thinks she's drooling. Her dead mind is simultaneously aware of everything and nothing: The crippling injuries Molly had sustained in Chichén Itzá helping to rescue Dresden's daughter; her subsequent disappearance, the rumors of her living on the streets.

And now, being wanted for questioning in connection with at least two murders.

"No. I just figured out the game is rigged." Molly heaves a sigh, fingers curling into the ratty and faded blue ends of her tangled hair. "So I quit playing."

She sits down on the couch beside Murphy and cocks her head, regarding the older woman with calm appraisal.

"Now you can talk."

"Why?" Karrin still can't move a muscle, apart from the ones that produce speech. Her eyes are locked straight ahead and her breathing is perfectly calm when she should be hyperventilating. Panicking, even.

"You need to ask?" Molly's flitting random gaze falls upon Murphy, her face twisting before once more looking away. "Harry fought for this city. Protected all of us." Her voice falls to a near whisper. "And you killed him."

She can feel her brain trying to explode with possibility, to seize this new information and run wild. Molly shakes her head.

"You didn't pull the trigger?" The laugh is cold, Molly's eyes in contrast now ablaze. "It's still your fault."

Her mind wants to be awhirl. Murphy just sits, waiting for the next moment.

"Your fault he's gone. Before I..." Molly's mask of bravado slips, her voice wobbling. "And you never even --" 

Something breaks inside Murphy as she watches rage and grief ripple up to the surface from untold depths. Then Molly laughs, looking almost normal as she stares at nothing. Though it's clear she's contemplating something.

"So you're mine now." Molly nods, indicating the doorway. "From the moment you walked in. Because this is how I get what I need."

Alarm bells are going off all over as Murphy feels nothing. "Which is?"

Molly holds up one hand, outlined in flickering orange before the flames vanish from sight.

"Power." Molly nods and crosses her legs, looking oddly prim and professional. "You'd be surprised how effective the faerie way can be."

Five minutes ago, that would have been one of the biggest alarm bells possible. Murphy wrestles with the slippery notion of her thoughts, trying to corral them into some semblance of order.

"You're hurting me." She says it like they forgot to give her cream with her coffee. "Taking away my free will."

Molly waves her hand in a dismissive fashion. "I don't have to tell you to do anything."

"Of course you do." Murphy stares at the wall, at the crack in the plaster. "That's how it works."

"Don't be silly." Molly's voice is low and soothing. Murphy wants to shake her head, to cry

_(out)_

"I'm no wizard. But I know a few things." Murphy can't swallow the lump in her throat. "It's how this always works."

Molly leans over, resting her head on Murphy's stationary shoulder. "So is it worse if I tell you to enjoy it?"

"Depends what it is." Her skin is crawling, no less at her own lack of anger. To be denied even honest emotional reacion seems the pinnacle of intolerable.

Molly smiles, a lazy and terrifying thing. "Take off your clothes."

It makes it worse when Molly inevitably has to micromanage her on everything from speed (slower, naturally) to style (more sensual). Murphy feels utterly ridiculous, and says so.

"You look damn good to me." Molly leans back on the threadbare couch, her legs spread wide, one hand cupping between her thighs as she stares hungrily at her captive. "God. I feel so hard..."

In the process of shucking her underwear, Murphy pauses mid-shuck. Molly sees the look on her face and chuckles.

"Don't worry. No extra equipment here." Molly grinds her hips, clutching the inseam of her jeans. "Always felt more like a guy. I love to watch. I love to watch girls...I think about fucking girls."

Murphy stares as Molly bites her own lip; winces as her thighs squeeze her hand.

"I think about fucking you."

Murphy knows this to be significant. But the only thing that matters is getting those panties off and standing there naked, awaiting further instruction.

"Turn around." Molly's command is hoarse, her breath deepening and slowing. "Grab the wall."

If she's not allowed to be angry, Murphy thinks, she'd at least like the courtesy of being able to show embarrassment. Except her traitorous body is reacting, hips giving an extra thrust out and back as a twinge of current runs through her belly. Down into her now spread open --

"Mm." Molly's voice is languorous, yet sharp with desire. "Peachy."

Murphy stands there, listening to the couch springs squeak. Then the sound of a body moving; the feeling of Molly pressing close to her, ripe with funk and frighteningly thin beneath her robes.

"Will it be worse if I tell you to forget?"

Molly's lips caress her ear.

"Until next time?"


End file.
